


Casual Intimacy

by InitialA



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Everyone Is Gay, First Dates, First Time, Football | Soccer, Intimacy, M/M, Pining, Shower Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA
Summary: No one had ever thought to mention how ruddy fit Locksley was. Oh, he’d noticed at first – beautiful people drew his eye in that way – but he’d had a few other dalliances before realizing just how bloody fucked he was when it came to Robin Locksley. It was during a rain delay that Killian had realized he was absolutely fucked when it came to Robin





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/gifts).



> **i-am-bisexual-killian-jones** requested some smut of Killian having sex with a guy. I have a secret hard-on for Captain Hood. In fact, this is something that **idoltina** and I texted about for like a week last year and we each went “I’m not writing it, you’re writing it” for at least two days.
> 
> Anyway this is my first actual real slash fic, be kind for I only know what not to do. Many thanks to **bookstoreromantic** for giving this a once over and telling me how soccer works.

It felt like they’d known one another forever. They moved together on the field with ease, passing without thinking, sensing where the other was – just knowing they would be there with the assist. They stayed up late in the common area, going over plays and devising new ones, finishing each other’s thoughts late into the evening until someone inevitably reminded them about morning drills and the need for sleep. When one had a bad day, the other knew and was often the first to drag him out for a pint and some mindless entertainment to cheer him up. They had similar pre-game rituals, sat next to each other on roadies, and their teammates were surprised when one was seen without the other. They laughed and took the piss out of each other like the oldest of mates, but Killian and Robin had only been playing together since their first year at uni – sorry, _freshman year_.

(Killian still had some trouble wrapping his mind around the linguistic differences between American and British English. At least he’d known better than to ask to borrow someone’s rubber in the middle of class.)

Regardless, he’d certainly _heard_ of Robin Locksley before decamping to America and Robin had heard of Killian Jones; the amateur competitive football world was small back home and everyone knew who was being scouted by the leagues and by the universities. Locksley was good, a striker with the makings of an excellent skipper one day. They’d never played against one another, but everyone kept tabs on the big names.

(No one had ever thought to mention how ruddy _fit_ Locksley was. Oh, he’d noticed at first – beautiful people drew his eye in that way – but he’d had a few other dalliances before realizing just how bloody fucked he was when it came to Robin Locksley. It was during a rain delay that Killian had realized he was absolutely fucked when it came to Robin. They’d gotten caught in a downpour during warm-up drills and everyone had gotten soaked through, but Killian had zeroed in on how Robin’s kit clung to his well-defined muscles and the water ran down his chiseled jaw and _bloody fuck_ he was well and truly fucked.. He’d also decided then that an artist should capture Rob’s beauty in marble, like the Greeks. Though it wouldn’t capture the way the sun glinted off his hair and made it shine, or the way his cheeks dimpled when he laughed, or the cold fury in his eyes when another player committed an unnecessary slide tackle and injured one of their teammates.)

The fact that they’d both been scouted for this small university’s football team – rather, _soccer_ , as the Americans stubbornly continued calling it – just happened to be a twist of fate.

A rather cruel one, if he was going to be melodramatic about it – which he was apparently rather adept at, according to Swan.

Swan was his roommate, a lacrosse player with a mean right hook, a passion for grilled cheese, an old Volkswagen Beetle that he was constantly trying to keep running for her, and a penchant for throwing her pre-law books at him when he was in one of his “melodramatic moods”. And yes, Emma Swan was a girl – _woman_ , as she and her friend Snow were fond of reminding him.

The university’s rather liberal policy of gender neutral residence halls had ended up quite in his favor, despite the book-throwing. While even he could admit that Swan was a striking example of womanhood, his tastes ran more towards the men. And sharing a room with another man had always run hit-or-miss for him in the past. Swan hadn’t even batted an eye that first year, offhandedly mentioned an ex-girlfriend named Lily, and then asked if his practice schedule was as grueling as hers.

They’d been the best of friends ever since.

“If I have to hear you sigh over Robin’s quads one more time, I’m banishing you to the lounge for the night,” she grumbled, highlighting something in a textbook.

“They’re just so–”

“ _Perfect_ , so I’ve heard. Just ask him out already.”

“I had to wait fifteen minutes before I could shower,” Killian said, flopping back on the futon with one of his lit texts. “Bloody git took forever.”

“Scandalous,” she remarked, her voice dry. “Can’t even shower together. Oh wait, yes you can, because half the LAX team is gay and we have no problem.”

“Women don’t have knobs, bit different,” he retorted.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “There is _nothing_ sexy about a locker room, Jones. Quit being a – a, what is it you always call Will?”

“Bellend,” he deadpanned.

“Right, that. Stop being a bellend and just say something. And don’t give me another speech about ruining the team ‘vibes’.” She actually used air quotes, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue. “If nothing else, you have to learn to keep personal shit off the playing field. Or use it as fuel during a game.”

Killian sighed, resting his book on his face. She was right, he knew she was right, but when it came to actually admitting his own feelings, he was the biggest chickenshit – one of Swan’s delightful Americanisms that had rubbed off on him.

He just didn’t know how Rob would react.

It wasn’t as if his teammates didn’t know about his sexuality; as Swan had said, coming out to his mates hadn’t ruined any of the team’s closeness. Locksley had clapped his shoulder, thanked him for his trust and honesty, and assured him that the team would do their best to return that trust and honesty.

Well, that was all very well and good when stating a general interest in men _and_ women, but in Killian’s experience, men who had no interest in other men tended to react… poorly.

To put it mildly.

“Rob’s not like that.” Swan’s quiet voice broke through his thoughts.

“What, are you a mind reader now, love?”

She snorted. “No, that’s you. I just recognize that silence.”

“Come here.”

She did, dragging her textbook with her and settling against his side on the futon. She could be a pain in his arse sometimes, but she also knew the value of physical contact; he was, admittedly, more free in his general affection towards friends, but he counted himself lucky to be one of the small handful of people that Swan regularly showed any sort of affection towards.

“I’ll bring it up tomorrow,” Killian said quietly.

Swan made a noise as if she didn’t entirely believe him, and truth be told he didn’t entirely believe himself, but it was said and it would be enough for her to hold him to it. “I have a test tomorrow,” she told him, settling more comfortably into the crook of his arm.

He breathed a laugh and pulled her in closer, picking his own book back up to get some reading done before he was too inconsolable to think of studying.

Perhaps Swan _was_ right about his inclination towards the melodramatic.

* * *

 

His body may have been at practice, but his head clearly wasn’t. He was passable at drills, but he was easily distracted during the scrimmage and it did not go unnoticed.

“Jones,” Robin called.

His skip’s voice cut through the locker room chatter. Killian paused only after securing a towel around his own hips, ready to half-drown himself in the showers after that abysmal practice. “Aye, mate?”

Robin made his way through their teammates, giving Killian a critical once-over before speaking. “You alright?” he asked, dropping his voice now.

Killian glanced up, then away, irritated at himself for a multitude of reasons now. “Aye. Long night. Sorry, skip, I’ll get right tomorrow.”

Robin was silent for a moment, then reached out and clapped Killian’s shoulder. Killian had to fight the urge to lean into it, to show how the familiar gesture affected him as he stood there half-naked in the bloody locker room. “Shower up, we’ll go for a pint and a chat,” Robin ordered and turned before it could be argued.

Killian stared after his friend’s retreating back, taking a long moment to compose himself and adjust the towel a bit before grabbing his caddy and stalking off to the showers.

The hot water and soap didn’t make him feel anything other than clean of sweat and grass stains. Try as he might, letting the water beat against his skin did nothing to relieve the guilt of giving less than his best or the anxiety gnawing at his gut at the conversation to come.

After he dressed, he went out into the hall to find Robin waiting for him. Wordlessly, they fell into step together, practice bags slung over their shoulders and hands shoved into their pockets. He followed Robin’s lead as they left the training facility and went down the street to their favorite dive bar – fairly empty at this hour, which would make Robin’s scolding easier to hear.

They ordered, and after the waitress brought their pints, they each took a long drink as Robin regarded Killian thoughtfully over the rim. “So,” he said, setting his glass down. “Something’s eating at you. And don’t give me any nonsense about everything being fine or I’ll go talk to Emma and she’ll tell me what’s really going on with you.”

Killian winced, setting his own glass down. Swan absolutely would, if for no other reason than she was an abysmal liar. “That’s a low blow, Locksley.”

“Aye, but you’re a right stubborn bastard when you put your mind to it, so my hand is forced. You’ve never played so badly, not in all the years I’ve known you. Even after the mess with that lass Milah and then your disastrous rebound with Jefferson.”

Those had been easier to handle – after Milah left, there had been nothing for him but throwing himself into the game, leaving everything on the pitch until he was spent, an empty shell left for Swan to care for, making sure he ate and had a decent night’s rest. Jefferson had been an angry affair, both of them lost and angry and winding up hurting the other more. But it had only led to more fuel, something like a dam breaking in Killian’s soul that flooded his body with pain and rage and powering his game until he was left with only quiet and acceptance inside.

But this, this situation held more at stake.

Swan’s voice was in his head, telling him she’d hold him to his statement yesterday, but he reasoned that if such a confession went poorly he would have nowhere to turn. He’d left his feelings out on the pitch after Milah, after Jefferson, but the pitch was where Robin was. Robin was his friend, his teammate, his skipper.

Robin kept things grounded with the rest of Killian’s world had fallen apart.

Killian took a long pull from his glass, stalling for time. Thankfully, their food arrived, and both young men were too well-mannered to talk and eat at the same time – Robin’s family descended from some stuffy upper class lot, Killian’s mum drilling the mantra of “manners maketh man” into his head as a lad. During a lull, he finally said, “All twisted around about someone, s’all.”

His burger sat heavy like lead in his stomach, watching Robin’s face. Robin’s eyebrow lifted. “Enough to ruin your football? Don’t tell me it’s Emma.”

Killian tried not to laugh. Swan was gorgeous, but it wasn’t meant to be. “Roommates are off-limits, remember? Or have you and Regina started sharing a bed as well as a room?”

Robin’s cheeks pinked and he stabbed a chip into the ketchup. “I should bloody well think not… Very well then, who are they?”

His mouth felt dry, no matter how much of his beer he drank – indeed, he drained the glass and still felt parched. The waitress came and got him a refill and Killian stopped himself from guzzling it down lest he hurry along his buzz. He hardly thought a drunken confession of attraction would make things any better. “It’s… complicated,” he finally said. “Telling them, it would change a great many things that I’m loathe to give up.”

He met Robin’s gaze then, willing him to understand the words he wasn’t saying, but he knew it often took a straight answer for things to sink in. Robin’s blank look confirmed that. Killian swallowed hard, then said, “I value our friendship too much, Rob, to allow my personal feelings to get in the way if it makes you uncomfortable. I apologize if this admission alters the way you think of me –”

Robin’s eyes widened and Killian shut up fast; Robin was a good man, but he’d known plenty of men who turned on a dime at the thought of a man desiring them. “Bloody hell, _me_?” Killian’s mouth opened wordlessly, an icicle of fear slicing down his back as he tried to figure out whether he should run for it now or go down swinging. Robin blinked, shaking his head. “Well. I have to admit, Jones, this is a surprise, but I can’t say I’m not flattered.”

It was Killian’s turn to blink, his emotions a complete jumble. “You’re not…”

Robin met his gaze. “Killian, don’t be a tosser, I’m not upset.”

“Well, you don’t go shouting about your conquests in the locker room, so I couldn’t be sure if it would be received well or not.”

Robin grinned. “No, we’ll leave that to Will. As it happens, I suppose it’s never really mattered to me.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

There was a long pause and Killian fought the urge to gulp half his beer to fill the silence. His fingers must have twitched towards his pint, though, because Robin started to grin. “So, is this a date, then, or should we do one proper another time?”

Killian stared, flabbergasted. “One - _what_? And two, are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“Well, you should probably be the one to do the asking, but you seem – for the first time in your life, I might add – at a loss for words.”

“Rob, don’t indulge me if you’re not serious about this.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“You’re being awfully flippant.”

“I’m not getting on one knee, if that’s what you want.”

Killian felt his ears burning and he wasn’t sure what the cause of it was: embarrassment or anger, possibly a mix of the two. “Look, just forget it,” he said, balling up his napkin and tossing it on the table. He dug in his back pocket for his wallet, trying to look anywhere but at Robin; but when Killian opened the tri-fold to look for cash, he stilled when Robin’s hand covered his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Killian looked up to see a soft, earnest look on his face that matched his voice. “I thought – well, occasionally humor helps to ease tension, and I see now that it was a mistake.”

“Too bloody right,” Killian muttered.

Robin’s hand was warm, an odd but nice mix of calluses and softness against his own skin. Killian called up every ounce of courage he had, then turned his hand over to clasp Robin’s. His friend looked surprised at the gesture, perhaps a little unsure of how to handle it, but seemed neither disgusted nor displeased. “We’ve got a match Saturday afternoon, but how about after dinner we ditch the team and take in a movie?”

There were normally team dinners after matches, so it made sense – no need to alert anyone of anything new developing. And Killian and Robin normally went out after matches, though normally with Emma or Regina and their friends (they’d agreed that both of their roommates were useful in separate situations: Emma might not be a wild party girl but her LAX teammates knew how to celebrate a victory, while Regina and her group knew the perfect way to drown out any anger at a loss)

“Alright,” Killian said. Then, feeling bolder and remembering Robin’s remark about humor, added, “Though just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

Robin blinked and Killian thought his joke may have missed the mark, then Rob started to laugh. “You’re probably a bloody awful kisser anyway.”

He thought about proving him wrong right then and there – he’d received approximately _zero_ complaints about his technique, thank you very much – but in all honesty Killian was too busy trying to hide the fact that he was now very much staring at Robin’s mouth, wondering how he kissed and what the combined sensations of their beards might feel like.

* * *

 

Swan, bless her, did her best not to gloat when he told her what had happened later that night.

Though given the fact that he couldn’t stop grinning, he probably wouldn’t have minded a bit of gloating anyway.

* * *

 

Their style of play didn’t falter and Killian’s ability returned now that he was free of the stress of any difficult conversations. He’d been out with Robin before and though he fundamentally knew this was different, part of him wasn’t able to truly understand that this was a _date_ and not just two friends out on the town. Perhaps that’s why he could keep his head on straight over the next few days, even managing to score a goal and assist on two others to help win the match on Saturday.

It wasn’t until after the team dinner that Robin caught his gaze and gave him a meaningful look.

That’s when the waves of butterflies hit.

They took Robin’s truck – Killian had never gotten the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road and happily allowed others to chauffeur him around – and headed out to the shopping mall on the far side of town. There was a theater there that gave student discounts. Knowing their teammates, no one would be out that way celebrating, and it wasn’t likely that they’d run into Emma (the LAX team was on a retreat for the weekend) or Regina (who had an organic chemistry exam on Monday and had threatened to set anyone who disturbed her on fire).

Killian had found that there was always an odd moment concerning who paid when on a date with a man, but it seemed that Robin had already thought of that. “You get tickets, I’ll buy snacks?” he asked as they jumped out of the truck.

“Sounds good to me.”

They wound up eating most of the popcorn halfway through previews, making snide comments to the other about trailers for this overblown blockbuster or that lackluster comedy. By the time the lights went out, Killian was feeling more relaxed, though it still felt decidedly more like friends hanging out rather than a date.

About forty-five minutes in, he decided to _make_ it feel like a date.

It took another fifteen minutes to build the courage to do it, sneaking glances at the armrest that lay between them and Robin’s arm casually resting on it.

He felt Robin still when Killian took his hand, and almost withdrew, but then Robin’s fingers laced with his and Killian’s heart soared.

He couldn’t remember the rest of the movie if he tried.

They were quiet as they left, Robin’s hands casually tucked in his pockets. There weren’t many people leaving the theater at the same time, so Killian pretended to stumble, bumping their shoulders together and making Robin laugh. He nudged back and it turned into a little game, shoving one another until Robin finally just threw his arm around Killian’s shoulders. It was almost a headlock, and to anyone observing it would appear so, but he recognized it for what it was.

Maybe Robin understood the value of physical contact, too.

“So,” Robin said as he pulled up to Killian’s dorm a while later.

“Yeah.”

“That was nice.” Killian scoffed and Robin grinned. “Right, you have a better adjective?”

“I had a good time,” Killian said, his voice pitching high at the end, silently asking if Robin felt the same.

Robin smiled and reached over the center console to take Killian’s hand again. “I did too. Though perhaps next time we not dine with our teammates beforehand?”

“Is there a next time?”

“I’d like there to be.”

They stared at one another for a long moment until Killian smiled. “Alright. Next week?”

* * *

 

They had two more dates before the championship tournament hit, and Killian didn’t like to admit how it frustrated him to put whatever this was between them on hold for the sake of the game. At the same time, he knew it was more important to focus on winning, that there would be more time in the off-season, but he was frustrated all the same.

More because Robin seemed to hide behind his skipper mask, even when it was just the two of them discussing plays after a scrimmage.

He missed his friend. Or his… whatever this was.

They won the next game, solidifying their place in the quarterfinals, but only by the skin of their teeth. Everyone was frustrated after the game, Robin snapped at everyone in the locker room, and Killian’s own frustrations at his own poor play combined with his personal frustrations towards Robin. He managed to hold his tongue until everyone else had gone, finally lashing out, “It’s enough that we’re aware of our own mistakes, mate, there’s no need to be a prick to us all on top of it!”

“I’m skipper, Killian, it’s my damn job to be a prick when you all deserve it!”

“And whose job is it to put you in your place when you’re being an unjust prick?!”

“Not yours, that’s for certain! Take it up with the manager if you have a problem with my skipping!”

Killian fumed. “It’s not enough to know your team isn’t happy with their treatment? You stubborn arse, we selected you and we can damn well take that away. We _know_ we won by the skin of our teeth, we _know_ we need to do better next match, and trust me when I say we’re all going to be beating ourselves up over these mistakes until the next time we can go out there and prove we can do better than before.”

“It’s not enough,” Robin said, scowling.

“What should we do, Robin, become gods? Invest in a Time-Turner? Because the only way we can fix what already happened is to–”

Anything else he might have had to say was abruptly cut off, his ability to speak lost as Robin surged towards him, gripped his shoulders, and fused their mouths together.

If Killian had any lingering doubts about Robin’s intentions – if he was merely indulging Killian’s crush or humoring him so as not to cause any alienation or hurt feelings – they vanished. Hands moved slowly, from clutching to embracing, fingers tentatively twining in hair. They both were in need of a haircut, too superstitious about it at this stage in the game, but something deep and primal in Killian’s bones liked being able to twist his fingers through Robin’s hair as his tongue traced the seam of his lips and begged for entrance.

He hadn’t any expectations for what kissing Robin Locksley would be like, hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead or get his hopes up. But even in his wildest fantasies he couldn’t have imagined this – there was a soft urgency to his kiss, unsaid words pushed into actions and touches and the soft glide of their tongues, and Killian could feel Robin’s restraint, how much he was holding back, his inability to lose control in this moment and give in to the feeling.

He vowed to work on that.

Both were breathless when they parted, only enough to get air. Their foreheads touched and Killian almost chuckled when Robin’s mustache tickled his lip. He liked this – _really_ liked this – the feeling of Robin’s arms around him and their bodies pressed chest to thigh. Though, he did try to angle his hips away, feeling his cheeks heat up as he realized Robin could surely feel his erection pressed against his thigh.

But if Killian wasn’t mistaken, and he’d bet a lot that he wasn’t, Robin wasn’t feeling very calm after that himself.

“Bad form,” Killian said finally, giving in and resting his head on Robin’s shoulder. It was a bit awkward, as Robin was actually a bit shorter, but he liked it anyway.

“Are you really commenting on my technique?” Robin asked, sounding both amused and exasperated.

“No,” Killian said with a laugh. “Bad form for shutting me up in the middle of a tirade. As for the actual kissing, that’s a solid eight out of ten.”

“I’m going to regret asking how one scores a perfect ten, aren’t I?”

Killian only grinned.

* * *

 

It was a hard loss.

The weeks leading up to the finals had been good ones. Robin had eased up a little, leaving any discipline discussions up to their manager and refocusing his energies on team morale. He’d confessed to Killian that part of his outburst had been fueled by his nerves about advancing their relationship.

Killian, in turn, was too stunned about Robin defining this as a real relationship to comment.

Little touches had helped. Lingering shoulder claps or gentle touches when they thought no one was looking. Spending time together after practices also helped; Swan knew enough that they could hang out in Killian’s room without much fuss, but Robin wasn’t sure about Regina’s reaction just yet. If anyone asked, they were studying together. If anyone took a closer look, they’d notice Killian’s hand on Robin’s thigh, or the casual way Robin’s arm slung around Killian’s shoulders.

Well, maybe one didn’t need to look _too_ much closer.

Still, playing the last few matches with that kind of support, that kind of assurance, helped. They’d entered the final match with their heads held high – all of them, everyone on the team – but losing in the championship would sting regardless of their pre-game morale.

Losing 5-0 basically annihilated whatever morale they had left.

The team was slow to leave the locker room. Robin had no rousing speeches or kind words – in fact, he had no words at all. No one spoke, the silence dulled only by the steady hiss of the showers and punctuated by the occasional slam of a locker. Everyone trickled out in ones and twos, their heads decidedly less high than they’d been earlier that morning, until only Killian remained in the main room.

Sometimes he did this, lingering in the locker room, letting himself feel whatever emotions he felt after a match without worry that anyone would see. Today he sat with his head in his hands, going over every play in his mind and trying to find what he could have done differently, what plays they could have made instead.

He heard both Robin and Swan in his mind, telling him not to do this to himself, that he knew better.

Well, he did know better, but it was all he could bloody think about.

Disgusted with himself, Killian stripped off his grass-stained jersey and shorts, tossing his dirty uniform into a bag to be washed and grabbing his towel and shower things; everyone else would be back at the hotel by now and he’d join them later, but right now he had to wash off the stink of failure.

It appeared he wasn’t alone in thinking that.

He hadn’t noticed the water still running, but there was a lone occupant in the communal showers: Robin. Killian tried to think back to the last time he’d seen him and concluded that his boyfriend had probably been trying to literally drown his misery for at least three quarters of an hour.

_Boyfriend._ That was still strange.

Killian dropped his things in the partition, then stepped into the steam. “Rob.”

Robin turned slightly and Killian’s heart broke all over again at the self-loathing and anguish on his face. It mirrored his own feelings, but actually seeing it made him push them away and focus on trying to make Robin feel better. Or at least stop looking like he’d never feel happiness again.

As Killian went to hug him, it dimly registered that not only was this the first time in several years that he was seeing Robin naked, it was the first time they were even touching one another in an intimate way without clothes. And there was nothing sexy about it. And that was perfectly fine.

They didn’t speak, the water beating down on both of them and keeping them warm as Killian held Robin close; and it wasn’t as if he _disliked_ the way that Robin clung to him, he just wished it were for any other reason than misery. And he really had no idea how to make it better.

“You’re going to prune,” he finally said, voice barely audible over the hiss of the water. Robin only nodded, tucking himself under Killian’s chin. “Did you wash at all?” This time Robin shook his head.

Well, that was easily taken care of. Killian eased back to grab his things, then set to work.

He always found value in casual displays of affection. Whether it was hugging friends or letting Swan sleep on his lap when they watched telly or now gently washing Robin’s hair, Killian knew that simple touch, simple gestures of care, warmth, and safety were so scarce these days that the extra effort was appreciated by anyone on the receiving end.

He raked his fingers through Robin’s hair, massaging the shampoo in and scrubbing out the sweat and lingering feelings of defeat. Robin’s eyes were closed and slowly his features relaxed, following Killian’s gentle lead to tip his head back under the spray to wash away the soap suds. Then came the body wash and Killian was hesitant as he lathered up his hands and spread them across Robin’s chest. It was then that Robin opened his eyes, meeting Killian’s hesitant gaze with his own. “Can you handle it?” Killian asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Robin said; it was hard to hear him over the sound of running water, his voice hoarse from shouting on the pitch and likely from the emotions that kept him shut away in his self-imposed confinement.

Killian nodded and stepped back, going to scrub his own hair while Robin got the soap.

He sighed as he stepped into the spray, scrubbing his fingers against his scalp and inwardly bemoaning the fact that he desperately needed a haircut. With finals coming up he’d be hard pressed to find time to get it done, though perhaps he’d ask if one of Swan’s teammates knew how to cut hair.

“Killian.”

He jerked up, wiping water out of his face as Robin took a step towards him. Their lips met and Killian grunted in surprise, hands automatically moving to cup Robin’s head and circle his waist. “Make me forget,” Robin whispered against his lips. “Make me feel good, Killian, please.”

His cock swelled at the words and nudged Robin’s. Killian swallowed hard, pulling back only enough to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t want this to be something Robin regretted, this large of a step in their relationship brought on only by the urge to expunge negative feelings. But by God, did he want to.

Robin gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Killian surged forward, their lips crashing together and making Robin stumble back slightly. They turned so that Robin was practically pinned against the wall but for Killian’s hand reaching down to grip his ass. They both groaned, Robin’s hips jerking up as Killian kneaded and squeezed the firm muscle. Killian moved quickly, kissing a path down his jaw and gently biting the thick cords of Robin’s neck before reaching the juncture. He bit a little more hard, then _sucked._ Laving his tongue against the skin, desperate to mark him in some primal need to stake his claim, and squeezed Robin’s ass in time with his sucks. Killian pulled back with a slight popping sound, then dropped to his knees, ignoring the hard tile as his free hand traced the muscled lines of Robin’s stomach. Even over the water, Killian heard Robin suck in a breath when his hand reached his cock; glancing up, Killian saw he was being watched with an intense expression and hooded eyes. “You like this?” he asked, running gentle fingers over Robin’s cock before wrapping his hand around it.

He gave it an experimental pump, watching Robin’s eyes flutter shut and his head fall back against the wall. “Ah, ah,” Killian scolded, getting used to the feel of Robin’s cock and moving his hand in firm, even strokes. “Watch me.”

With that, Killian leaned forward and flicked his tongue against the head. He heard Robin groan as he tasted the salty precum leaking from the tip, then wrapped his lips around the head.

Robin’s hand fisted itself in Killian’s hair as he promptly put every other blowjob he’d ever given to shame. His tongue swirled around the head and traced the fat vein pulsing along the side of the shaft. Robin’s cries echoed through the room, his hips jerking in Killian’s hold and forcing his cock further down Killian’s throat. He only gagged the first time, not expecting it, but relaxed and tried to keep a stronger hold on Robin as he continued.

When one hand went to fondle Robin’s balls, that seemed to be the breaking point. Killian eagerly swallowed his release as Robin came with another shout, only wincing slightly as the hold on his hair tightened. Only when he’d licked the last of it away did Killian sit back on his haunches, looking up to see the results.

Robin slumped against the wall, head tilted back as he caught his breath. As his eyes opened, Killian grinned. “Get up here,” Robin practically growled, taking the offered hand and hauling him up.

Something had snapped in him; Killian felt it as Robin’s kisses became fiercer, more possessive. Killian groaned deep in his throat as Robin practically shoved him back against the wall, his mouth tracing a similar path that Killian’s had done earlier, though Robin paid attention to different areas of his body. Robin nibbled his ears before nipping his way down Killian’s neck; his hands weren’t idle either, running down Killian’s sides and kneading his ass in a decidedly greedy manner. Killian shuddered as Robin’s fingers danced along his thighs, wondering what it might feel like to be pinned to the wall and properly fucked – but that would have to be another time, when they were prepared and not trying to distract each other.

As he mused, Robin slowly dipped down, pausing briefly to pay attention to Killian’s nipples and nose through the thick, wet hair covering his chest. (One of the many things Killian appreciated was that Robin was nowhere near as hairy as he was; only one of them needed to be part-wolf.) His breath hitched as Robin ran his tongue along his abs, tracing a path down to Killian’s aching cock and wasting absolutely no time at all before wrapping his lips around the head.

Killian would have to take a moment later, when he wasn’t about to collapse from pleasure and when he wasn’t trying to contain screams, to appreciate that as both of them were uncircumcised, both knew exactly how to handle the other’s cock. It was a marvel, and one he would put into appreciative words.

Later.

Eventually.

When his boyfriend wasn’t going down on him so earnestly, one hand playing with his balls and the other teasing Killian’s ass and making him want to melt into a puddle of goo.

He tried so hard not to rut his hips, not to fuck Robin’s mouth, but God he couldn’t help it. He did his best to keep his thrusts shallow, but then the goddamn son of a bitch sucked _hard_ and Killian’s body jerked involuntarily; he felt the head of his cock brush the back of Robin’s throat and almost came right then.

He decided to copy Robin’s earlier move and threaded his fingers through Robin’s hair; he silently urged him to move faster, desperate for more and half-wild from the need to come. Robin obliged, his tongue swirling and his teeth ever-so-slightly grazing along the shaft and Killian vaguely tasted blood from biting his lip too hard to keep from crying out.

He didn’t remember an orgasm that powerful before, his hips rutting and rutting into Robin’s willing mouth as he came down his throat. He sagged when it was over, when he was finally spent, and released Robin’s hair to let him up. Killian fell gratefully into Robin’s kiss, both of them more relaxed and their touches more tender, less frantic than before. “Water’s getting cold,” Robin said softly, cupping Killian’s face briefly before tracing the line of his jaw.

“Someone interrupted my wash,” Killian said, his weak joke earning a grin in response.

Robin ducked out first, letting Killian scrub himself, though he was a bit more reluctant to wash away the feeling of Robin’s lips over his body. It was a consolation to realize they could do it all over again another time, with more time and more preparation and less chance of someone walking in on them in a somewhat public locker room.

_Nothing sexy about locker rooms,_ he thought, Swan’s words from several months ago coming to mind _, we’ll see about that_. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell, but he’d give a mild update to Swan when they returned.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he’d keep this new, warm feeling in his chest to himself for a while longer. His own private happiness to keep the demons of defeat away.

Or perhaps it was a private happiness to be shared by two people; Robin’s face when Killian went to change was a complete 180 from before, soft and with a glow that matched the one Killian felt.

They kept sneaking glances at each other as they dressed, smiling when their eyes met. When Killian’s head popped through the opening of his shirt, Robin was there, moving to gently cup the back of Killian’s head and touch their foreheads together. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Anytime,” Killian replied. “Really.”

That made Robin laugh. “Next time let’s be a bit more private, though, eh?”

They slung their bags over their shoulders and Robin took Killian’s hand as they left the facility. Killian gave it a squeeze, a reassurance that it would be okay – and it would, they both knew it. Their shower dalliance bled away most of the poison but some of the sullenness would return.

But it would be okay. They had each other.

They’d be okay.


End file.
